Kidnapping the Assassin: The Mafia Don’s Fatal Mistake

The Burning Castle

Chapter 38

**[Cassian]**

The shockwave from the armory detonation hit the manor a second later. The heavy ballistic glass of the nursery windows groaned under the pressure, violently rattling in their steel frames. 

The estate’s emergency klaxons finally screamed to life, bathing the dark room in a strobing, sickly red light. 

I didn't stare at the fire. I turned away from the window, my mind immediately categorizing the tactical catastrophe. Without the armory, my men were restricted to their sidearms. Without the vehicle bay, we had no armored transport to evacuate. 

Arthur hadn’t just breached my home. He had initiated a siege. 

"Matteo!" I roared into my radio. 

The static finally cleared, replaced by the frantic sound of boots pounding on marble and men shouting. *"Boss! The main gate is gone! The armory is a total loss. We have heavily armed hostiles breaching the perimeter. Dozens of them. They aren't wearing colors."*

"Guild remnants," Elara murmured, her face deathly pale in the flashing red light. "The apprentices he kept hidden. They’re highly trained, Cassian. Your street soldiers won't survive a close-quarters fight with them."

"Pull all surviving men back to the manor!" I ordered through the radio, ignoring her fatalistic assessment. "Fortify the ground floor. Nobody gets up the stairs. Shoot anything that moves."

*"Copy that, Don Rossi. Fortifying the"* 

The radio transmission cut out with a sharp burst of static, replaced by the sickening sound of a wet thud. Matteo didn't finish the sentence. 

"Matteo!" I yelled. Dead air. 

I clipped the radio back to my belt. The absolute, unadulterated rage that had been sleeping for five years erupted in my chest, hot and blinding. I racked the slide of my pistol, my scarred right hand gripping the handle with a terrifying, bone-crushing strength. 

I looked at Elara. 

She was standing over the crib, her hands frantically wrapping Leo in a thick blanket. The blast had woken him. He wasn't crying, but his tiny face was scrunched in confusion, his dark eyes wide and terrified. Lily was finally stirring on the daybed, groggy and disoriented from the paralytic dart. 

The fearless, lethal Viper was trembling. 

She wasn't trembling for herself. She was looking at our son, realizing that the one thing she feared more than death had just walked through our front door. 

I closed the distance between us, grabbing her face with my left hand. I forced her to look away from the baby and look directly into my eyes. 

"Listen to me," I commanded, my voice dropping to a low, gravelly vibration that anchored her panic. "This house is built on top of a reinforced panic room. Titanium walls, independent air supply, closed-circuit comms. It can withstand a bunker-buster."

Elara’s gray eyes searched mine, frantic and wild. "He knows how to breach a bunker, Cassian. He taught me."

"He doesn't know about this one," I vowed, my thumb brushing a stray, dark curl from her cheek. "Because I didn't use an architect. I poured the concrete myself while you were pregnant. It’s entirely off the grid."

Her breathing hitched, the terror receding by a fraction of an inch. 

"Take Leo. Take Lily," I instructed softly, pressing a hard, bruising kiss to her forehead. "The entrance is behind the massive bookcase in my private study. Secure the lock from the inside and do not open it for anyone but me."

She stared at me. Her assassin's mind processed the tactical reality of my words in a split second. 

"You aren't coming with us," she realized, the panic returning instantly. 

"I have fifty men dying downstairs," I stated coldly, stepping back and checking my spare magazines. "I am their king. I don't hide in a hole while my soldiers bleed."

"Cassian, no!" Elara grabbed my arm, her grip desperate. "You can't fight them like cartel thugs! Guild assassins don't fight fair. They use shadows. They use traps. You are walking into a slaughterhouse!"

"I am the slaughterhouse," I growled, the dark, violent mercenary inside me fully taking the reins. "I am going to rip Arthur’s throat out with my bare hands and hang his corpse from the balcony. Go to the bunker, Elara. That is a direct order from your Don."

She recoiled as if I had struck her. In five years of ruling side-by-side, I had never pulled rank on her. I had never spoken to her as a subordinate. 

It was a cruel tactic, but I needed her angry. I needed her moving. 

I didn't wait for her to argue. I turned my back on my family, stepped out of the nursery, and walked into the dark, flashing corridor. 

I moved silently down the spiral staircase, the heavy thud of my boots masked by the blaring klaxons. The air grew thick with the smell of cordite and burning wood as I neared the ground floor. 

The grand foyer was a warzone. 

The massive crystal chandelier had fallen, crushing the marble grand piano. The heavy oak front doors were blown entirely off their hinges. Three Rossi soldiers lay dead near the coat check, their throats neatly slit. They hadn't even had the chance to draw their weapons. 

Elara was right. These weren't thugs. These were ghosts. 

I crouched behind the shattered remnants of a marble column, my pistol raised, scanning the smoke-filled foyer. 

A shadow detached itself from the ceiling directly above me. 

I didn't look up. I threw my body backward, rolling across the glass-covered floor just as a heavy, serrated blade buried itself into the marble where my neck had been a microsecond prior. 

The assassin landed silently. He wore all black, his face obscured by a tactical mask. He yanked the blade free and lunged at me before I could raise my gun. 

I didn't try to shoot him. I grabbed the wrist holding the knife with my scarred left hand, twisting violently against the joint. With my right hand, I drove the heavy steel frame of my pistol directly upward, smashing it into his masked jaw. 

Bone shattered. The assassin grunted, his knees buckling. 

I didn't hesitate. I shoved the barrel of the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. 

The body dropped. 

A slow, rhythmic clapping echoed from the top of the grand sweeping staircase. 

I spun around, aiming my weapon upward. 

Standing on the landing, completely untouched by the smoke and chaos, was a man in an immaculate, bespoke gray suit. He looked to be in his late fifties, his silver hair perfectly styled. He held a silver-tipped cane, watching me with the amused, detached curiosity of a scientist observing a rat in a maze. 

Arthur. The Weaver. 

"Excellent reflexes, Don Rossi," Arthur called out, his cultured voice carrying effortlessly over the sirens. "A bit barbaric, perhaps, but effective."

I didn't waste breath on banter. I aimed center mass and fired three rapid shots. 

Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't even move. 

The bullets sparked and ricocheted off an invisible barrier inches from his chest. Bulletproof, heavy-duty ballistic glass had silently dropped from the ceiling, completely sealing the upper landing. 

He had trapped me on the ground floor. 

"I didn't come here to duel a mobster," Arthur smiled, leaning casually on his cane. "I came to retrieve my property. You see, Cassian... you sent the Viper to hide in a hole."

The blood drained entirely from my face. 

"But a Viper," Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with profound, sadistic delight, "is perfectly designed to navigate the dark. Especially when I am the one who built her nest."

A sickening realization hit me. He hadn't bypassed the security grid. He had rewritten it. 

"Enjoy the fire, Don Rossi." 

Arthur turned his back and walked calmly down the second-floor hallway, heading directly toward the private study. Heading directly for the bunker where I had just locked my wife and child.